Party poooper?

So I survived a birthday slumber party with several eight and nine year old little girls over this past weekend. Let me just say first off, I quit smoking in January and have rarely craved a shmoke. I dearly wanted one at 6AM this morning as they woke me up screaming and running through the house.

I knew that the girls would be in and out, in and out all day/night long so I didn’t make the house spotless before they came over. Yeah, it was clean. But, it coulda been cleaner, and I wasn’t too afraid knowing that my floors weren’t mopped, and the child’s room wasn’t spotless, and so on. I knew that once they left, I’d have the opportunity to fix and clean everything.

And I didn’t set any rules. No, I didn’t want to throw a bunch of rules at the girls, and expect them to actually listen. I didn’t want to sound like an old, biddy so I let them do what they wanted. Oh my freaking gosh . . . a mad house, I was in a freaking mad house.

I was literally going, OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG .. ! Oh – My – FREAKING – Gosh! Look at my floor! Look at my couch! Look at my kitchen! Oh my poor poor kitchen!!! Don’t worry cabinets, they won’t slam you shut much longer. No, they’re parents will pick them up soon. Oh, ‘fridgerator, don’t cry. The spilled milk on your shelves can be cleaned up. Oh there, there .. let me get it!

I cringed. And I cussed under my breath. I held my breath. I looked away, and covered my eyes. I peeked through my fingers and saw them pillow fighting with my couch cushions, and I was like ohhhh myyyy freeeeaking goshhhh!!

I finally got them all to settle down and eat some breakfast. Cake and ice cream for breakfast, all around! I sugared them up and sent their little butts home. And then I got to cleaning! And I cleaned. And I smiled. And I loved every minute of it.

Online banking

A few years ago, my bank account was totally wiped out. I don’t know who did it. I don’t know why. All I know is that I went to the ATM one morning, and I was 500 bones in the red. The bastid had taken all of my money, plus some. I don’t have much to begin with, so when someone stole my money, I was completely heartbroken. I was devistated. I was angry. I was scared.

After many phone calls, trips to my local bank, and waiting patiently for two weeks, my money was back in my account. I was relieved, somewhat.

That was a few years ago. To this day, I still check my online banking at least ten times a day. TEN times. A day. Sometimes more, if it’s been stressful. I have to check it. I have to make sure that nobody is trying to take my money. I have to make sure that if something changes, I know then and there what it is, why it changed, and how much money is left. I never want to be in the situation I was in ever again.

:: :: :: Red :: :: ::

Erks me long time

Cupboards and drawers must always stay closed. I don’t want to see them open even a fraction of an inch. I don’t want them ajar . at . all.

And I don’t want to see anything poking out of them. No clothes, no towels, nothing. I like them clean looking so that means that whatever is in the cupboards and/or drawers, must be completely inside. No poking out. Ever.

:: :: :: Red :: :: ::

What the????

What the f**k is with people who leave dirty dishes on the sink?
Flies all over them, crusty bits hanging off, attracting ants and all that shit?
I went visiting someone I know the other day and nearly puked! I didn’t stay for coffee, I got out as quick as a I could. My frigging God, I was worried about getting Ebola or something!
I can live with (some) parts of the house messy, or untidy, for a short while, but I can’t stomach D-I-R-T-Y!
In the day and age of choosing from more cleaning products than a hospital could use in a year, there’s simply no excuse for it. Some people don’t even grasp the concept of what water is for let alone a spray cleaner!
And do NOT get me started on personal hygiene!! Soap and deodorant are reasonably cheap, so I can see NO reason for body odour (nearly spewing just thinking about it!) or for a person to NOT be clean and tidy.
I know we all do sloth now and again, but we still shower right? Use deodorant? Antiperspirant? Wear clean clothes?
Why do people let themselves and their living environments get putrid?
I’m not into disgusting little gutter snipes so get the hell away from me!!

I got Dolla’s! Holla!

I often have difficulties when I’m shopping.  I have no problem shopping, don’t get me wrong.   I LOVE to shop (and straighten shelves at Target).  I love buying things.  It’s paying for them that is the problem. 

No, I don’t steal.  It’s the change.  The damn change they give me.  It’s NEVER straight! WHY???!!!

I worked in a bank for 4 years.  I was my manager’s dream.  My money was always neat, facing the same way and always in sequential order.  My wallet is the same way.  Isn’t yours?

When I pay for stuff with cash and I get my change back it’s like they reached in their fuckin pocket and pulled out a wad of bills.  They’re facing different, some upsidedown.  I almost want to  ask them “how can you DO this?”  I actually sigh with frustration.  So, there I stand, holding up the next customer, straightening out my change.  I can’t leave unless it’s straight.  You understand.

I just don’t understand how this can be ok, money all out of sorts.  Oh, God, it makes my get the willies even!

I went to starbucks on the way to work today to get a blueberry smoothie (YUMMY) and I gave the guy a $20.  He gave me back my change, all wadded up (wtf?) and so I had to sit there and straighten it out and face it all the right way.  This is more difficult if I already have money in my wallet because now I have take that money out to mix with my new money I just got.  Highest in back, lowest in front.  It took a minute and then the guy behind me honked his horn.  I wanted to yell out my window “Hey! Like I can fucking HELP it!”

Normal?  Nah, I never fuckin said that.  Me?  Oh, hell yes!

I am unable to pass by….

I am unable to pass the copy machine at work without getting rid of the papers sitting on them.  No, I’m not nosy, it’s just that they DON’T belong there.  There they sit all “willy nilly” and it drives me nutz!

If I am at my workstation and print something out (personal or otherwise) I get off my duff and pick it up.

But 9 times out of 10, I walk by the printer and there are usually a handful of miscellaneous papers that just need to BE GONE.  It makes me very uneasy!  There is only one person that knows about this and she just chuckles and I riffle through the papers and find their proper places

Does this one get you too?

All Kinds of Nervous

Hey there!

I have to say, i’ve been pondering doing this post on my own blog for a while, but just cannot.  I am a nervous wreck even posting it here. 

I feel like i’m sitting here naked for the world to see, and to know.  It’s taking every ounce of courage I can muster to even tell you what i’m about to tell you.

I can’t tell you when it started, I was very small.  I  know, that to date, it’s my biggest compulsion.  I never talk about it.  I’ve never said it out loud, til now. 

Oh my god, my stomach is actually queasy.  *deep breath*  here goes.

Some people have the compulsive tendencies like washing their hands or checking locks/keys.  I talked before about how I can put my keys in my purse and immediately check to see if they are there.  The whole time in my head going “gee dummy, you KNOW you just dropped them in there, where the fuck they gonna go?” 

But compulsion is a main component in OCD, as we all know.

My biggest compulsion (I feel like i’m gonna get kicked out of the cool club right now, I swear to God)

I feel really embarrassed.  I cannot believe i’m gonna tell you, but I have to.  I feel ashamed of it and I shouldn’t.  This blog, and the people in it are all open and honest, and I know it hasn’t been easy for any of you.  You are all so brave, and now I’m gonna be brave too.

I smell my hands…..constantly.

There, I said it. *peeking through hands over eyes*

I’m still alive.  *huge breath out* 

I don’t know why I do it.  But I have done it forever. And, no matter how I try, I can’t stop.  My mom used to scream at me. “Quit sniffing your goddamn hands!  Go fucking wash them for christsakes!”  But it’s not because they smell bad, or good,  or like anything for that matter.  I just honestly cannot stop myself from doing it.  It got to where if my mom caught me doing it, she would hit me across my fingers with a ruler or worse, a belt.  She would make me put them out and she would smack them.  I was ashamed.  Something was wrong with me.  So I got real good at hiding it.  I’m still ashamed, and I still hide it.  I think some of my closest friends may have caught on, but they don’t say anything.  Bless their hearts.  It’s easy to mask.  Much easier than you might think.

I feel like going back and deleting everything I just wrote.  Like you are all gonna hate me now.  I guess that sounds crazy, but hey, that’s conditioning for ya.

My son does it.  That’s what even brought this post to life.  My son is a smeller.  Not just his hands though.  He smells his first bite of food, his clothes before he puts them on, and his shoes.  He’s always smelling his shoes.  I tell him that might not be the greatest, being he’s in sports and his shoes stink pretty fucking bad most of the time. 

When he first started, he was pretty little.  3 or 4 I think.  I remember seeing him and being just mortified.  “Oh God, he’s like me”  I thought.  “He’s gonna feel ashamed like I do.”  So, I asked him, once after I saw him do it.

“you got something on your hands? do you want to wash them?”

“no,” he said, ” I just like to see how they smell.”

“why?” I asked.

“don’t know, just do.” he replied. 

I’ve never said another word about it.  I worry that someone will tease him over it, but I think he’s gotten clever about it like I have. 

I’m not sure how I feel telling you this, but at least I have finally told someone.  And if you let me stay in the cool club, I’d certainly appreciate it.

Counting

I’ve been thinking about the whole OCD “counting game”. It occurred to me that while I do some things similar to you other OCD bloggers, my counting rituals are a bit different.

I guess I AM a bit supersticious? 6 is a badluck, evil number to me so I avoid it at all costs. If I grab a handful of creamers for my coffee and wind up with 6 (OMG, NO!!!) I will put one back or grab another. 13 is also NOT on my (+) list.

When I kiss my kids on the cheek or goodnight, I kiss them 7 times. WHY? Because, don’t you see, 7 is an “ok” number. 7 happens to be 1/2 my goodluck number of 14). I don’t want to kiss them 14 times, otherwise I’d be standing there all day, so I opt for 7 – it’s still part of “lucky” and it wont take as long – or make my kids crazy because their mamma is hanging off of their face trying to get her OCD fix.

All of this and more…. I’ll post more as I recognize them for what they are. Little quirks that make me, ME.

Can you imagine if I weren’t on medication?

*Bella*

Weird

I must have been 8 or 9 when I realized that I was different.  I liked to count stairs.  But it wasn’t that I liked to count them.  I HAD to count them.  I asked my one friend if she counted them.  “no,” she said.  “maybe you’re just WEIRD.” 

So, weird I was.  Then it wasn’t just counting stairs, it was counting steps, counting cars, counting, well, anything I could count.  I liked to count.  I had to count.

As I got older I realized that if I tried to NOT count the stairs, I would have to go up or down them again.  And count them.  *shakes head* Fucking why????

The closet stuff started in middle school.  I would “organize” my friends closets.  They thought it was great (shit, some of them still do!)  I LIKE to organize.  It makes me feel happy and comfortable.  From there it was more closet/clothes issues, key issues, alphabetizing issues.  The list goes on and on.

It’s funny to me how some things have to be sooooo just the right way, but other things, my car for example, can be completey disarrayed and it don’t bother me. 

I do embrace my OCD.  I embrace being “weird”.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

OCD, When it first cropped up.

I noticed the first signs of O.C.D. (for those of you who are not familiar with the term, it stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) cropping up after I had my first son (back in 1991). I started to compulsively wash my hands. I had seen a show on, yes, Oprah about O.C.D and I’ll never forget the moment it occurred to me as I stood hovering the sink washing my hands for the ump-teenth time that THIS WAS indeed becoming some type bizarre ritual for me. Shoot, my hands were starting to crack from being washed so often. I then, forbid myself to “over wash” my hands because I didn’t want to wind up on the Oprah Show as her next freakish guest.   I am grateful to that show because otherwise, I would never had known I was doing something out of the norm.

Then it took a turn for the worse, consuming my mind and making me miserable and anxious (especially at night making it difficult, if not impossible) to fall asleep. Here’s just one example. Let’s say the husband and I took our son on a hiking trip.  Oh, it was a beautiful sunny day.  Some areas were high, and we came upon several cliffs.  I had an eagle eye on my son, there was never danger involved.  However, that night as I lay in bed… my body was just starting to relax, my mind wandered, and BAM!  I would envision us at the top of this cliff and my son would toddle off the end, falling to his death!  My heart would freeze and I’d literally jump up from my rest!  WTH?  Just as I would lay there and reassure myself that my son was safely sleeping in his crib and all was ok, the next horrific scene would pop into my head and cause greater anxiety!

Then came the cleaning. It had to be done. And, not just a quick “once over”. No, I had to thoroughly clean every nook and cranny. This was quickly beginning to wear me out and make me feel rather incompetent. Because not only was I a new bride and mother with all that entailed, I began on a journey of something that could never be accomplished; pure perfection!  Cleaning had to be done my way or the highway! I even use to clean at my sisters house when I’d go over there for a visit (nearly every day). Even taking off her plastic shower curtain liner and putting it in her washing machine before scouring her bathroom.

It got to the point where she said one day, “You know, you don’t have to come over and clean, you could just come over and visit” and I was like, “Huh?” I wasn’t doing it for her (Silly Billy!). I was doing it for me. For my peace of mind! I guess in my mind, it was some fantasy, when I came to her house, it was a hot mess, but when I left it was gleaming! So, in my mind, it would stay that way? Hmph!

I couldn’t even leave my house before it was spotless. Even just to go to the grocery store because if I shopped and came home, and things were messy that might send me over the edge? Holy cow, was the world going to come to an end?

These days, my OCD has tamed down a lot. I take meds for depression and anxiety and it must helps with the anxiety ridden thoughts associated with OCD too. Now, I just catch myself doing these quirky little things that seem harmless; I really just try to keep them in check. I allow myself just a few. My husband doesn’t even know this but…

I’ve already told you about the nick in the elevator wall at work that I have to touch when the elevator begins to move, about the obsession I have with the cruise control button in my car, but I thought about one more that I have never told to a soul, until now.

Again, this is one that I do at work. When walking down the quiet halls in the wee hours of the night; when I pass this certain hall intersection, a type of alarm sounds – I keep walking, only, this time I walk a bit faster and try to get to the next hallway “intersection” without taking a breath because it would be bad luck…. OMG, I cannot believe I wrote this down. It’s so childish, it’s almost like while walking with my siblings or friends as a child someone would say, “Step on a crack you break your mama’s back!” — it’s exactly the same thing. Only, I’m not a kid, and I know I cannot have bad luck from taking a breath while this little alarm buzzes. I literally have to MOVE f-a-s-t before I take a breath and take a step over onto the next hallway for safe passage.

I’m a freak, don’t ‘cha just love it? What about you? What form is your OCD taking these days?